Not your martyrs anointed of heaven-
The ages are red where they trod-
But the Hunted-the world's bitter leaven-
Who smote at your imbecile God-

A being to pander and fawn to,
To propitiate, flatter and dread
As a thing that your souls are in pawn to,
A Dealer who traffics the dead;

A Trader with greed never sated,
Who barters the souls in his snares,
That were trapped in the lusts he created,
For incense and masses and prayers-

They are crushed in the coils of your halters;
'Twere well-by the creeds ye have nursed-
That ye send up a cry from your altars,
A mass for the Martyrs Accursed;

A passionate prayer from reprieval
For the Brotherhood not understood-
For the Heroes who died for the evil,
Believing the evil was good.

To the Breakers, the Bold, the Despoilers,
Who dreamed of a world over-thrown
They who died for the millions of toilers-
Few-fronting the nations alone!

-To the Outlawed of men and the Branded,
Whether hated or hating they fell-
I pledge the devoted, red-handed,
Unfaltering Heroes of Hell!